


Marigold Black

by Deejaymil



Series: Original Stories by a Bored Australian [11]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Animal Rescue, Family, Flash Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 23:11:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17610833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deejaymil/pseuds/Deejaymil
Summary: There’s a kitten dying in Nana’s marigolds.





	Marigold Black

**Author's Note:**

> **Edited July 2019.**

The kitten is dying.

She knows dying. Knows what it looks like. Knows the glaze-grey gleam to the eye that rolls around to stare her down; knows the white stained gums that flash as the animal opens its mouth to mewl. There’s a smell to dying, but it isn’t here. There’s no bleach sharp stink, no plastic-almost-balloon scent of gloves going _snap snap_ in Daddy’s hands. No fading hint of Mama. Just earthy soil and the pungent, musky fragrance of Nana’s marigold garden, the sides spilling over with summer coloured petals. From within that bed of orange and red and gold, dying eyes are wary. They tick from side to side watching her as she shuffles closer, knees digging deep into the damp lawn and coming up streaked. She leans closer, examining those eyes. Tick tick, they go, tracking her face, green against black and yellow.

It’s hot. The damp lawn watered to try to save it from summer, wet by the sprinklers that had just switched off with a loud _clunk_ of the timer kicking in. Crickets hum nearby, narrating this tentative moment. And the heat, despite the wet evening, pushes the kitten down. Clumpy black fur stuck up all spiky, and she reaches a finger to its heaving sides and murmurs, _puss puss_.

It’s interesting, this kitten dying, and she watches for a while. His tongue is pink and flicks against a leaf, tasting the water. Mewls for more. Still inspecting her.

She wonders what will happen when it dies. Will it be like Mama? A box and a crowd of always-sad people wearing black and grey? Daddy’s hand clammy and gross and his wide mouth turned down?

She’s not sure she wants that.

The sun’s going down. The kitten makes a dying noise; a wheeze or a cough or something almost in-between. She decides. There’s green on her knees when she stands and it doesn’t wipe away when she tries. Nana, stepping out on the porch and looking down on her with her face all tight, is mad.

“It’s the sprinkler’s fault,” she protests, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and then wiping it on her dress when Nana scoffs. “There’s a kitten dying in the marigolds.”

Nana tsks and she hrms and she catches the marigold black kitten in a stained old pillowcase and brings it inside.

And it doesn’t die.


End file.
